there are only two ways for the average backpacker to get from panama to colombia. well, there are literally three, but the third way involves crossing the darien gap-a large swath of undeveloped jungle and forest and playground for guerillas and drug lords-overland, and people generally agree that the journey is either insane or suicidal. since i am neither, there are two ways: by air, and by the caribbean sea, on a sailboat that passes through quite possibly the most beautiful island chain in the world. oh dear, tough choice.
so, we got ourselves a ¨crew¨(me, three aussies and a kiwi), a boat-the esmeralda, and a fearless (and soon to be learned, slightly bipolar) captain oliver.
the san blas archipelago of panama is home to the indigenous kuna indians. they have hammocks in their congressional buildings, and until the late 1990s, the official form of currency was the coconut. they like to say that there is an island for every day of the year, but in reality, there is more than 400, most of them completely uninhabited. the difference between the two types of islands is staggering. the kunas crowd themselves onto only a couple of the islands, thatched huts pressing up against each other, dug-out canoes docked up on the shore, the somewhat misplaced phone lights and street lamps cutting the horizon. other islands consist only of a few palms.
having traversed theses waters for some time, our captain took us through the populated islands first, stopping for some fresh seafood (squid--couldn´t bear to get that one down) and the local shaman-medicine man for their secret cure for sunburns (i think it was aloe...). the next days were spent exploring the vacant islands, leaving footprints in the softest sand i´ve ever felt, swimming with seahorses and starfish, swinging breezily in a hammock over the aquamarine waters, watching the sky turn from blue to gold to pink to orange to red to purple and finally to an inky black canvas stretched across the sky, with millions of stars suspended across. untouched paradise. get it while it´s hot.
and then it was time to actually sail. sixty hours of open water. perfect timing for the anchor to break, one of the masts to give out and the ¨toilet¨to give up. add to that no showers, no fresh food (scurvy anyone?), a bipolar captain who would be all smiles one moment and screaming orders in sailor-speak the next (everyone get aft! starboard!! something about berth??), and hellishly rough seas. needless to say, we were all hitting the dramamine pretty hard, leaving everyone in drowsy, half-there mental state. it was difficult to walk a couple steps without stumbling into something. luckily, there were ropes and cables galore to grab on to, because last time i checked, going overboard wasn´t too pretty. wooden boards had to be placed in between our beds to stop us from rolling out when a rogue wave hit. all the windows of the cabin had to be closed due to the rough seas, so everything took on a musky scent of sweat and saltwater. because we were sailing through the night, everyone took shifts for night watch (you know, to keep an eye out for cargo ships, uncharted islands, logs, lighthouses, pirates, icebergs, etc etc etc). this was actually my favorite part of the second half. i took the 3-5 am shift, and for those two hours it was just me , the ocean and the sky. the rocking was actually soothing instead of sickening, the moon casts a soft light on the boat, and when i stood to scan the horizon i actually felt a bit pirate-like. where´s captain jack sparrow when i need him?
finally, after days of far-too confined quarters (cabin fever sets in faster than you´d think), one meal of sandwiches and pasta salad too many, and a captain who has spent FAR to long at sea...land ho! and not just any land, but colombia, south america, a whole new continent to explore!
am i glad i did it? yes. how many people can say they sailed from one continent to another? would i do it again? no way, jose. well, maybe not for another 23 years.
and for your viewing pleasure, photos of the trip!
No comments:
Post a Comment